Love is Complicated
by phoenixdown7
Summary: USxUK Alfred lusts, Arthur is clueless, and Francis tries to help. This can only end in tears. Or so Alfred thinks. Francis knows better.
1. Discovery

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or any of the nations therein.

Summary: Alfred lusts, Arthur is clueless, and Francis tries to help. This can only end in tears. Or so Alfred thinks. Francis knows better.

Love is Complicated

Chapter 1: Discovery

Warm fingers clasped at the nape of his neck and he pulled the other's smaller, taut body up against him when their lips met. A welcoming tongue greeted his own and he groaned appreciatively.

Alfred nearly stumbled at the needy sounds rising from Arthur's throat as his broader, calloused hands kneaded the sinew along Arthur's spine beneath his shirt. He only managed to stay upright by pushing the smaller man up against the nearest wall and leaning against him.

A soft 'oof' escaped Arthur's lips against Alfred's open mouth, but Arthur seemed otherwise untroubled by his predicament, his warm hand at the back of Alfred's neck insistently pulling Alfred closer.

Alfred found Arthur's jaw with his lips and the pace picked up, their movements feverish as Alfred's fingers trembled around unclasping the buttons on Arthur's shirt. Arthur impeded the action somewhat by wantonly bucking against him, but Alfred resisted the urge to just pull down Arthur's trousers and sink himself into his tight heat right then and there. He wanted to take this slow. He wanted to make Arthur feel good.

The moment Arthur's shirt hit the floor in a rumpled heap, Alfred took advantage of the wide expanse of pale skin that lay before him, lowering his head to place small kisses down Arthur's salty throat to the dual points of his collar bone. He nipped at the bone, earning a gasp of surprise or pleasure, before sliding his tongue along the hurt, tasting sweat and need in one wet stroke.

His lips found the rhythmic rise and fall of Arthur's chest and stopped upon a pert nipple. He swirled his tongue around the areola before sucking gently, gaining a gasp from Arthur, before he nipped the nub and licked across it once again. Arthur's back arched and his head fell back involuntarily as Alfred did the same to the other nipple, enjoying Arthur's response and the way the man bit his lip against a moan.

Finally, Alfred let go and followed Arthur's sternum to his navel, Arthur's hands gripping his scalp – fingers clenching and unclenching with every suck with his lips or stroke of his tongue.

Alfred paused for a bit, glancing up at Arthur's face, before penetrating the navel with his tongue. The grip on his scalp tightened, almost painfully, and he could feel Arthur's groan vibrate against his lips as he stroked in and out, suggestively.

"A-Alfred…"

Alfred pulled away and looked up. Arthur's eyes were on him, glinting emerald in the small light of the room, cheeks flushed and lips parted. There was something beckoning about his expression.

"_Fuck_, Arthur…" Alfred breathed, his hands trembling along the waist-band of Arthur's pants as he kneeled in front of the smaller man. He almost couldn't handle how sexy the man looked, and he found it harder to resist pulling his smaller body against him and burying himself to the hilt.

Arthur made the job harder by breathing unevenly and staring down at him, apparently speechless, desire and want barely hidden on his features.

Alfred's fingers were pulling down the zipper of Arthur's fly before he really knew what he was doing. He was trembling when the zipper caught, but he applied more force and it came loose, sliding all the way down as his other hand unclasped the button on top. He slid the trousers and the briefs beneath down until they fell into a heap at Arthur's feet, leaving the other man entirely exposed to Alfred's gaze.

The white skin gleamed in the little light that was available and the hands on his scalp clenched a bit. Alfred pulled his eyes away from his scrutiny to look up at Arthur's flushed face – Arthur's fingers twitched self-consciously in Alfred's hair.

"You're absolutely beautiful." His voice was soft, tender, and Arthur's breath hitched.

Alfred took Arthur's fingers and brought them to his lips, kissing each and every one of them. Arthur was watching him with an expression akin to euphoric fascination, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly every time Alfred prolonged the kiss and took the fingertips further into his mouth.

When Alfred was done with every finger, he moved forward and kissed the tip of Arthur's trembling cock.

Arthur gasped in shock, his hands clenching in Alfred's own, but Alfred held them tight as he nuzzled the head of Arthur's organ with his lips and cheek.

"Alfred…nnnghh…" Arthur moaned, his head falling back against the wall behind him, exposing the column of his neck and curving his back in such a way that was entirely erotic.

Alfred let go of Arthur's hands and gripped the edges of Arthur's hips, kneading his thumbs into the flesh. His tongue found the slit on the head of Arthur's cock and he slid it upwards, tasting his bitter precum as it beaded at the tip. Arthur's cock twitched and Alfred watched as the muscles of the man's stomach and abdomen followed until the domino effect cascaded over and Arthur was involuntarily bucking against his mouth.

Alfred tensed his arms and held Arthur's hips back, keeping the other man from getting what he wanted, before sliding his tongue along the same route again, tasting the new precum that had gathered in his absence.

"Alfred…what're you…?" Arthur questioned, his voice strained. He was watching Alfred now, his hands yet again in Alfred's hair, trying unsuccessfully to pull him forward and finish what he had started.

Alfred licked again, Arthur swallowing his own involuntary groan, before the American looked up at him.

"I'm tasting you."

"Sadist." Arthur's lips were still parted as he was panting, beads of sweat travelling down the muscles of his chest. "I suppose you've been…planning this?"

Alfred smiled, not realizing how wistful it looked. "No, not exactly."

Arthur looked down at him questioningly.

"I've dreamed about this," Alfred replied. "Every night."

He moved forward, this time taking Arthur's cock into his mouth and sucking. Arthur's body trembled. He licked around the head languidly, taking the entire shaft into his mouth again.

"!"

"!"

Alfred threw his arm out to stop the noise, hitting something with the corner of his fist and the noise stopped. He opened his eyes and sat up, curling forward and rubbing his eyes with one thumb and forefinger.

He was in bed, and it had happened again. That same dream.

_Shit_.

He looked down to see the evidence tenting beneath his covers mockingly.

He groaned, pulling a hand through his sweaty, greasy locks, and shivered when he realized he was sweaty all over and it was cold in his hotel room.

He stumbled out of bed and into the shower, letting the warm water hit his strangely sore muscles. He had long since given up on taking cold showers to get rid of the problem. They didn't work and often just made him frustrated and needy for the rest of the day.

His hand found his cock and he leaned his forehead against the tiles beneath the shower head, the water running around him. He only had to stroke and think of Arthur from where he'd left him in the dream and finish it to its obvious conclusion. Soon, he was kneeling upon the floor of the tub, body curled around the lower tap, his forehead resting against the tiles, and his mouth panting around the water that gushed down his face as his seed swirled down the drain.

It was minutes later before he could stand up without wobbling and finish his shower. Turning off the tap, he stumbled out of the tub and stood in front of the mirror.

He looked up at his reflection and sighed. He looked satiated but miserable – an all too familiar sight these days.

Although, today he knew it would be worse than before. After months of struggling with this problem alone, there would be an international meeting today, and Arthur would be there.

Alfred frowned and took out his shaving kit from the pack he'd left in the bathroom.

"Fuck me."

Yeah…

He _wished_.

* * *

TBC…


	2. Denial

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or any of its nations.

Chapter 2: Denial

Alfred was late when he stepped into the conference room, but since this was a usual occurrence, no one really paid him any mind – except for Arthur, which was also a usual occurrence.

Alfred pasted a smile on his face and hoped it looked genuine as Arthur glared at him and unknowingly sent tingles down his spine.

"Finally deigned to grace us with your presence, Alfred?" The sarcasm was thick in Arthur's tone, the patented you-are-a-total-idiot glare fully in place, but Alfred's gaze shifted to Arthur's hand as his long, dainty fingers tapped the wood. A flash of kissing those fingers before kissing something entirely different crossed Alfred's mind and he had to force himself to look away.

He noticed Francis sending him a strange, calculating look from across the table, but he forced a chuckle and plopped down in a chair with what he hoped was his usual devil-may-care attitude.

"What, old man? Did you miss me?" Alfred goaded, but he secretly hoped his tone didn't reveal just how sincere his question was as he looked across at Arthur.

Francis's eyes were narrowed with suspicion, a small smirk beginning to curl his lips, but Arthur seemed to have remained completely oblivious to any slip up, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "Not in your dreams."

_You have no idea…_

Alfred couldn't keep the automatic frown from tugging at his lips, but he recovered quickly, attempting to laugh it off, even though the retort had stung in a way that he hadn't anticipated."We all need our beauty sleep. It looks like you're past due."

Alfred knew it was a low blow with the way Arthur's back stiffened and his fingers stopped tapping on the wood, his green eyes swirling with hurt that he had never really been able to hide. Although he had always tried to cover it up with his anger, which, Alfred admitted, the man had gotten pretty good at. Alfred knew it was problematic though, when the rage that crossed Arthur's face only made Alfred's body tense with desire instead of the usual bemused irritation.

"Not everyone can spend his days focused solely on his good looks," Arthur spat. "Some of us have actual responsibilities that we take seriously."

Alfred smiled a bit at the backhanded compliment hidden within the string of insults, an involuntary warmth spreading across his chest. "You think I'm good looking?"

The sincerity of his tone must have come across, instead of the sarcasm, because Arthur's eyes widened a bit, his cheeks flushing.

"W-what?" Arthur spluttered, suddenly looking flustered. He seemed to be searching for the appropriate response, but he quickly found his bearings, and his frown deepened as his glare intensified. "No, of course not."

Francis chuckled and Alfred started a bit when the nation put an arm around his shoulders. The man leaned in close to his left, his long blond locks brushing against his ear.

"Do not try to fish for compliments from Angleterre, mon cher." Francis's voice was full of amusement and his fingers squeezed Alfred's shoulder. "One as unattractive as him could never fully appreciate what it means to be beautiful like you and me."

"Belt up, Frog," Arthur spat. "Beauty isn't everything. Some of us favor intelligence over empty-headed idiocy."

"Says the man with the uncomfortably large eyebrows," Francis chuckled. "Really, Angleterre, jealousy does not become you."

Arthur's nostrils flared, his face red with rage and green eyes flashing, but he didn't retort. Alfred could feel himself getting angry on his behalf. He thought Arthur was beautiful – absolutely gorgeous, in fact. It pained him to see that Arthur seemed to think he was ugly in any way – or at least enough that he didn't even try to argue with Francis's barbs.

It wasn't normal for the Englishman to just give up like that. Especially not with his most hated rival.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders, dislodging Francis's arm, and glared at him. The man had the audacity to look pleased and Alfred had this sinking suspicion that Francis had been playing him from the start, but he plunged on anyway.

"Arthur is not ugly, Francis. So, shut up."

He felt Arthur's eyes on him and he turned slightly to see the man's green eyes wide, his mouth slightly parted, and Alfred had to keep himself from remembering an expression very similar to that in his dream.

Francis merely shrugged at his reprimand. "Then tell me, Amerique, mon cher. What in particular is not-ugly about Angleterre?"

Alfred stared at the Frenchman as Francis smiled back innocently. Alfred could still feel Arthur's eyes on him and he frowned.

_That conniving…_

There was no way he could get out of this, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to realize that somehow, Francis knew his secret, after only seeing him once. Was he that obvious? Or was Francis just that observant? He was hoping that it was the latter, because he didn't want Arthur to figure it out too. Arthur would surely reject him outright for even thinking that way about him. And besides, he already knew Arthur could never feel the same – by all accounts, the man had hated him since the revolution, and before that they were practically _family_.

Alfred wanted to hit his head against a wall several times. He had no idea why he had started to feel this way. The dreams had started months ago and at first it was easy to deny that they had existed or that they had meant anything, but as time went on, the desire had just grown until it was impossible to calm himself down with just a cold shower. And that was when he hadn't even been in contact with Arthur to begin with. It was so much harder now that they were actually in the same air space. He couldn't even look at the man without that uncomfortable thrum of heat bubbling under his skin.

He had never felt this out of control before, and certainly never about Arthur. Every time he looked at the man he wondered what would happen if he just leaned over and kissed that strip of pale skin showing beneath the man's shirt collar between his shoulder and neck, or how Arthur would feel against him as he pinned him to a wall, or how it would feel to be encased inside him. Alfred could feel his cheeks heat up, before he could stop it and he ducked his head.

He swore any more of this was going to kill him. Especially with that expectant way Arthur was looking at him now.

Alfred shook his head, as if to reboot his brain and get his thoughts back on track. He attempted another chuckle to lighten the mood. "Ah, you know, Francis. Those eyebrows may look like dead caterpillars, but they aren't that bad."

Francis, however, didn't join in on the joke. In fact, the man was frowning over at him in disapproval, and Arthur looked positively mutinous.

Alfred's smile became strained, but he held up the act. He wasn't going to let Francis make him say anything that would incriminate himself. He really didn't know what right the man had to be disappointed. He wasn't some kid at the back of the classroom getting slapped by a ruler to the wrists and Francis certainly wasn't his teacher. Suddenly, Alfred was feeling even more angry and morose than before, and it was easy to blame Francis for all of it. It hurt less than seeing the hurt expression on Arthur's face as the man pointedly looked away to watch Ludwig call the meeting to order.

Alfred refused to beat himself up about it, even though he wanted to, and he refrained from curling his arms in front of him and burying his face in his arms, because that would be uncharacteristic of him even on his worst days. He had to act as he always did until the meeting was over. He would make it through this and Arthur would never be the wiser.

He watched Arthur taking careful notes from the corner of his eye. The man looked calm but the tip of his pen was digging into the notepad with more force than necessary and Alfred could easily spot that wrinkle between his brows that Arthur only got when he was angry or frustrated.

Alfred let out a slow, inaudible breath. He would remain strong, even if it hurt them both. At least that way, things wouldn't become even more awkward between them. That would be the worst.

Or so Alfred told himself.

* * *

The rest of the meeting went by rather well, if by rather well, that meant Alfred had managed not to let the burning desire in his gut show on his face whenever he looked at Arthur or heard the man speak. Although, there was the added irritant of Francis watching him, but this time, it was without the usual knowing smirk, which only served to make Alfred even more nervous.

He tried smiling back at Francis with his big dopey grin to throw him off, but that hadn't worked. The man had only stared at him harder, something accusing in his expression. Alfred, for his part, was about ready to go over and punch him in the face. Seriously, what was his problem? But he'd managed to refrain. After all, that would bring a lot of unwanted attention to himself.

He realized that in itself was a really strange thought for him. He usually loved attention. He practically thrived on it. The fact that he was trying his best to stay out of the lime-light was probably a dead giveaway to Francis that something was amiss in the land of America's pants.

Alfred gave a sideways glance to Arthur as the meeting came to a close. He still looked pissed off, even as Matthew walked over to speak to him. Alfred's gaze focused on Matthew's hand on Arthur's shoulder as the Canadian stood behind Arthur's seat. Alfred tried to squash the tinge of jealousy he felt at the display, and sighed. At least Arthur was still oblivious.

His day, for all intents and purposes, had been a success. So, why did he feel like such crap?

Oh yeah, because he was a poor sap who was in lust with the most forbidden nation on the planet and he was probably going to die of blue-balls.

And there was another meeting tomorrow.

_Bummer_.

With that last morose thought, Alfred stood up and put all of the colorful diagrams his boss had made for him back into his briefcase. Then a hand came down on his shoulder and he looked to his left, not surprised to see Francis staring at him.

"What do you want, Francis?" Alfred sighed, trying not to notice or care that Arthur and Matthew were engaged in a nice chat with Kiku…or the way Matthew's hand was resting on Arthur's elbow as Arthur spoke with a small smile lighting his features. "I'm tired and I'd like to eat something before I pass out."

"Ah, what a coincidence! I'd like to get you something to eat," Francis smiled, but it looked slightly sinister. "There's a café down the block. Meet me there."

He left the room and Alfred stared after him. The man hadn't even waited for his reply, and really, what reason did Alfred have to meet with him? He didn't want to. He really just wanted to go back to the hotel and pass out. He wasn't even hungry for a hamburger.

He must have been really out of sorts.

Alfred sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to get the kinks out. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Arthur watching him, but when he looked over, the man was looking away, Kiku speaking to him in low tones. Alfred shook his head.

_Damnit_…

It was ten minutes later when Alfred entered the café and sat down across from Francis at a small round table by the window. The sun was setting and the light refracted off of Francis's wine glass as he sipped from it delicately.

"What is this about, Francis?" Alfred sat back in his seat and looked over at him, trying to figure the man's motives out and failing.

"Why did you come here?" Francis asked enigmatically as if that was a perfectly acceptable answer, placing his glass back on the table and folding his hands in front of him.

Alfred frowned, tired of all the games. Why _had_ he come here anyway? "Geez…I don't know…although now I'm starting to think I shouldn't have."

Francis nodded. "You are uncertain. This is not like you, mon cher."

Alfred stared at him, before shaking his head. "You don't know what I'm like."

"Maybe not," Francis agreed, but he was smiling.

Alfred sighed, he felt even more tired than before. "Francis, why did you ask me here?"

"I am only trying to help a friend in need," Francis replied.

Alfred looked down to see Francis's hand covering his on the table, but the contact was short, and the hand was retracted readily.

"Help me with what?" Alfred asked, although he thought he already knew what Francis meant. Some small part of him had obviously wanted it, after all. It was probably why he had come here in the first place.

"Amour, mon cher." Francis smiled warmly at him, no hint of his usual crude humor tainting his tone. "You are in love with our dear Angleterre, are you not?"

"In l-love?" Alfred repeated, his face heating up. He wasn't sure Francis had the right idea. He knew he was in lust with Arthur – that he desired him like no other – but love…that was an entirely different animal. "No…no, that's not it."

"Hm?" Francis was looking at him critically now. "It is not love?"

"No," Alfred replied, and he ran a hand through his hair to distract from his embarrassment.

"You want to fuck him." Francis's statement was blunt, his expression leaving no room for retort.

Alfred's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. What could he say to that? It sounded so cold and crude somehow. It didn't sound entirely right, but it sounded closer to the truth and that kind of scared him. Did he just want Arthur to fuck? That couldn't be entirely it, but that was all he knew for sure at the moment.

"I see," Francis replied and stood up. "Then I bid you adieu."

"Wait…what?" Alfred spluttered as Francis moved to walk away.

Francis stopped and looked down at him, his expression almost pitying. "Fucking is easy. Anyone can fuck. Loving is the hard part. Until you are certain that you love him, I cannot help you."

Alfred watched him walk out of the café and around the corner until the man was out of sight. He looked back at the table morosely and noticed that the pervert hadn't even paid his bill.

Alfred scowled, wishing he had never come here, and nearly choked on his own spit when he read the bill. Leave it to Francis to consume the most expensive wine in the house.

Alfred numbly paid for it and then left, the sun dying on the horizon, no longer merely hidden by the buildings of the city. He walked back to the hotel in a funk, barely noticing the stars twinkling overhead.

Was he in love or was it only lust? What was the difference? He didn't really know. He didn't think he had ever been in love before…but he'd never felt this much carnal desire for anyone before either. It was maddening, and it made him feel like he was on a constant emotional roller coaster that just wouldn't stop and let him off.

Although, in the end, what did it really matter? There was no way he was going to get any reciprocation no matter what he wanted. Francis had said that fucking was easy, but he doubted even that would be easy with someone like Arthur. It just wasn't possible…and so it wasn't even worth getting riled up over.

Not that he could help it.

He sighed again, kneading his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he entered the lobby of the hotel.

This was getting seriously insane.

He stumbled into his room and didn't even take his clothes off as he fell into bed. He didn't want to be awake anymore. He didn't want to think.

But knowing his luck, he would still have to dream, and he cursed the small masochistic part of him that was excited by the prospect.

* * *

TBC…


	3. Acceptance

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or any of its nations

Chapter 3: Acceptance

"_I love you…"_

Alfred nearly fell off the bed in his haste to turn off his alarm clock, but he managed to leverage the front half of his body back onto the mattress by pushing against the floor with one arm. The moment he fell back against the bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide. Slowly, he sat up and looked at his lap.

It was wet.

He sat there staring at it for some time, his heart beating a mile a minute – the only sound in the room the ticking of his alarm clock. But the last words of his dream rang through his head on repeat. He pulled the covers back and looked at the damage up close.

"Fuck."

……………………………………………….

"Francis, I need to talk to you."

Francis turned around from conversing with Antonio and gave him a questioning look.

"In private," Alfred added, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, and hoping Francis would just accept with little fanfare until they were out the door of the meeting room. Arthur was already on the other side of the room, ignoring him and speaking with Matthew, and Alfred wanted to keep it that way.

Thankfully, Francis nodded to him, politely excusing himself from Antonio to follow Alfred out into the hall. Alfred finally stopped in front of the men's bathroom, which was down a ways at the end.

"You are here early today, Amerique," Francis observed with a smirk. "Something special happen, hm?"

Alfred pushed Texas up his nose and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "You could say that."

Francis only smiled, looking at him expectantly.

"I think…" Alfred began, wondering how he should phrase this. "It is what you thought it was."

"What is?"

Now Alfred knew Francis was playing dumb and he scowled. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I do not," Francis replied, slapping on his best innocent look. "Enlighten me, s'il vous plait."

Alfred frowned, staring the man down for a bit, but Francis's expression of polite interest never wavered.

"_Jesus_…fine," Alfred replied, looking away in order to gather the courage for what he had to say – but it wasn't because he was scared. No, he was just trying to be careful. "I think I love him."

"Who?"

Alfred glared at Francis and the man actually chuckled.

"Sorry, sorry, mon cher, but you should see the look on your face." Francis smiled jovially. "I never knew you could be so serious."

"I have my moments," Alfred replied slowly, now watching the man a bit warily.

"Those moments seem to be happening more frequently," Francis informed him, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. "You need to loosen up, mon ami. Be who you used to be."

Alfred attempted to smile and Francis began to laugh outright.

"Don't strain yourself, Amerique," Francis gasped through his laughter. "You look in pain."

Alfred's faux smile dropped, and he suddenly felt worried. "What's happening to me?"

"Love changes people," Francis replied, his tone suddenly serious. "c'est naturale."

"Is it permanent?" Alfred tried not to sound panicked, although he probably did.

"It is probably just nerves, mon cher," Francis soothed. "Do not worry so much. You must relax if you want to gain cher Angleterre's affections, no?"

"That's impossible," Alfred muttered, suddenly wondering why he was even telling Francis any of this at all. This wouldn't achieve anything, and there was absolutely no use getting his hopes up.

"So defeatist," Francis observed. "Whatever happened to 'oui we can?'"

"That's my boss," Alfred replied, but a small smile tugged at his lips at Francis's unique interpretation of the phrase.

"It is you too, Amerique," Francis insisted. "You are a super power, are you not?"

"Yeah, but…" Alfred paused. "Being a super power is all about using force. I can't just force Arthur to love me back."

"No?" Francis smiled deviously.

"No." Alfred's tone was clipped and he actually felt a bit angry with Francis for even suggesting such a thing. "Of course not."

"Ah, then you are truly in love." Francis sounded wistful, and he placed an arm around Alfred's shoulders. "Of course, I will help you, and you must trust me, mon cher, with my help, cher Angleterre will love you back."

Alfred seriously wondered if this was a good idea, or if he could really, truly trust Francis to help him win Arthur's affections. After all, the two nations purportedly hated one another. But Francis was just smiling at him confidently and he found himself nodding in acquiescence before he really knew what he was doing.

"Good," Francis chirped, suddenly business-like as he moved in front of Alfred to look him over. "First we must work on your clothing."

The next thing Alfred knew he was being ushered out of Francis's hotel room in a French suit. It was a bit tight around the shoulders, because Alfred was wider than Francis, but otherwise, he was surprised it fit as well as it did. It still didn't change the fact that he felt a bit awkward so dressed up. He had never even liked doing it when Arthur had tried to force him into suits back in his colonial years – although, that memory alone proved that Arthur certainly appreciated someone who put thought into their clothing. So Alfred grudgingly agreed to go along with it.

Francis practically shoved Alfred through the doors of the meeting room minutes before the meeting began. Alfred tried not to fidget as the other nations began to stare at him curiously, and he sat down at his seat with little ceremony, hoping for once that maybe his gray suit would work like camouflage and blend him in seamlessly with the gray walls behind him.

He looked across the table just in time to see Arthur sitting down at his seat. Green eyes locked with his in that moment, and he could tell the other man was surprised to see him in a suit - although, he couldn't tell if the man was necessarily pleased by the change. Actually, Arthur was looking at him as if he had grown a second head over night, which he didn't think was necessarily a positive reaction.

Alfred attempted a goofy smile and sent Arthur a jaunty little wave, but that just made Arthur's eyes grow wider.

"What are you wearing, Alfred?" Arthur's tone wasn't necessarily derogatory, but the question still set Alfred on edge.

"Um…it's a new suit, from Francis," Alfred replied, sending a good-natured smile Francis's way which the Frenchman returned.

"Doesn't he look stunning, Arthur?" Francis questioned, putting an arm around Alfred's shoulders and squeezing one shoulder with his fingers.

Actually, Arthur didn't look to be in that good of a mood, as he was glaring at Francis for all he was worth. Then his gaze switched to Alfred and his expression was unreadable, but cold. "I don't think French suits you, Alfred."

"And what does suit him, hm?" Francis questioned, a bemused smile still tugging at his mouth although his gaze was piercing. "English?"

"I didn't say anything of the sort," Arthur retorted, but his cheeks were flushed and he wasn't looking at Alfred anymore.

"Certainement," Francis replied, his tone light, and Alfred looked at him in befuddlement.

He had no idea what had just happened, but none of it seemed to have made Arthur like him any better. In fact, now the man was avoiding Alfred's gaze entirely. Alfred glared at Francis when he was sure no one was looking.

"Do not worry, mon cher," Francis whispered to him. "It is going well, you will see."

The meeting began and Alfred didn't have a chance to ask him how he had made that assessment exactly, but he certainly couldn't trust that it was true. Arthur's cheeks were still red, probably with anger, and once again his pen was digging into his note pad as if it had personally wronged him.

Alfred sighed, absently watching Arthur unblinkingly as the meeting progressed, not even noticing the small smile that crossed Francis's face.

* * *

Alfred was positively miserable by the time the meeting adjourned. Arthur hadn't looked at him the entire time, not even to glance, before the man was walking out the door with Matthew at his side. Alfred's eyes followed Arthur out of the room forlornly, before a hand came down on his shoulder.

Alfred looked up to see Francis standing behind him and leaning over his shoulder, a smile on his face. Alfred opened his mouth to speak, irritated that the man was so full of good cheer when his plan had so obviously backfired, but the Frenchman interrupted him.

"Next we must work on your etiquette."

Alfred sent him a suspicious look. "Francis…"

"Trust me, mon ami." And suddenly the man's tone was completely serious, his expression matching the gravity of his words. "This will work."

Alfred closed his mouth against a retort, sighed in resignation, and then simply nodded. After all, he still didn't know if he could trust the man, but Francis was rarely ever serious like that, and he was the only person who could help him in his current predicament. He realized belatedly that he sounded a little desperate, but he didn't care – because he kind of was.

He hadn't thought Arthur's coldness to him during the meeting could have hurt him as much as it had, but now that he had been on the receiving end, he wanted to fix it somehow. He would do anything.

Francis's smile was back in place. "Meet me tonight at 7pm sharp in the lobby. I must do a little investigating beforehand. Wear the suit."

And on that cryptic note, the man was gone, leaving Alfred to sigh tiredly before gathering his things.

Francis was waiting for him in the lobby when he exited the elevator at five past seven. The man was wearing one of his more tailored suits and the smile on his face was more than a little cunning as he watched Alfred approach.

Francis clucked his tongue reproachfully when Alfred reached him and absently brushed some lint away from his broad shoulder. "You are late, mon cher."

"Only by five minutes," Alfred retorted defensively.

But Francis only smiled. "Our dear Angleterre values punctuality above all else, non?"

Alfred paused, before nodding. It was true. In fact, one of Arthur's biggest criticisms of him had always been his compulsion to tardiness.

"Good, good," Francis replied good-naturedly. "Well, we must be off."

Alfred stared a bit at the arm Francis offered him, but the man only smiled enigmatically. Alfred took Francis's arm and looped their arms together.

"The first thing you must learn, mon cher, is how to be a proper escort," Francis stated, by way of explanation, as they exited the hotel and walked down the street.

Alfred stared at him, and the confusion must have shown plainly on his face, because Francis sighed and added, "For when you ask Angleterre to dinner, of course."

Alfred nodded slowly, wondering if any of this would actually help him at all. Although Arthur had always berated him for his lack of tact, and he supposed learning from Francis – the self-professed expert on love – how to be a good date could be beneficial somehow. He felt a pinch of nervousness, however, at even the mere thought of asking Arthur out to dinner. "Where are we going, Francis?"

"Ah, to a nice restaurant, of course," Francis replied, and he pointed across the street a little ways to a quaint little Italian establishment called _Amore_.

When they entered, the place was packed, but Francis had made a reservation in advance so they were quickly whisked to their table by a smart looking waitress. Alfred sat down across from Francis at an intimate little round-table, complete with a single rose in a vase sitting in the middle. A candle sat next to it and it was some of the only light they had to see by.

Alfred looked around and realized they were sitting at one of the few tables in an alcove, surrounded by windows that looked out on the street. He was appreciating the view before he turned his head and stiffened.

Arthur was at a table right across from theirs, eating dinner with Matthew. Alfred felt a sudden surge of jealousy the moment the shock wore off. After all, what would Arthur be doing with Matthew – of all people – at such a nice place? It looked like they were on a date, and neither of them had noticed Francis or him yet.

Alfred was actually pondering various schemes he could employ to break the two apart – one of which involved barreling over there and punching Matthew in the face for even looking at Arthur the wrong way – when Francis laid a hand on his clenched fist and he begrudgingly turned his attention to the man across from him.

"Arthur is here," Alfred stated as if that explanation alone could convince Francis to let him go.

"So it seems," Francis replied nonchalantly.

"With Matthew," Alfred added, failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he saw, from the corner of his eye, Arthur chuckle in amusement at something his brother had said.

"Does this bother you?" Francis asked, although now he was watching the pair as well.

_Of course it does_, Alfred thought, but he remained silent, gritting his teeth against the hurt he could feel twisting in his gut.

Arthur chuckled again and any hunger Alfred might have harbored before he had entered the restaurant vanished completely.

Alfred made to stand up – to rush over to the other table or leave, he wasn't quite sure – but Francis's hand was still on his and he was forced to stay seated.

"You must focus, mon cher," Francis stated simply, his voice low. "You trust me, non?"

"No," Alfred shook his head, feeling mutinous.

Francis sighed, sending him a look, and Alfred had the grace to feel a bit guilty.

"I will teach you how to win Angleterre's affections." Francis's tone was grave once again. "You want to show him you can be a good lover, do you not?"

Alfred nodded stiffly. "Yeah…of course, but…"

"Then show him," Francis replied, and then the man was placing his table napkin upon his lap with a flourish.

Francis watched Alfred expectantly, and he numbly did the same with his own napkin.

"Good, good," Francis commended, his smile back in place. "The lesson is etiquette."

Alfred nodded, trying to ignore the way Arthur was smiling around the edge of his wine glass as the man listened to another story from Matthew.

"The first rule of good etiquette," Francis began, pulling Alfred's attention back to him by placing his hand on Alfred's larger one yet again. "Is enjoying your partner's company."

Alfred attempted to smile and Francis chuckled behind his wine glass. "As I said before, there is no need to force yourself. Just relax, mon cher, and keep your attention on me."

Alfred's gaze had already started to drift toward Arthur, before he stiffened at Francis's words and attempted to give Francis his full attention.

"Good. Garcon!" Francis called to a passing waiter, who stopped at their table almost immediately. "Bring us a bottle of your most expensive wine."

The waiter eyed them both, his gaze pausing on their connected hands on the table, before he nodded briskly. "Of course, sir."

Francis stared a little longer than was appropriate at the waiter's hindquarters as the man walked away, and then smiled at Alfred. "Wine is the best antidote for nerves, mon cher. It will help you forget your troubles, hm?"

The waiter came back and served them, allowing Francis to taste before pouring a healthy amount in Alfred's glass.

Francis lifted his up. "A toast for love."

"Right." Alfred nodded decisively and clinked their glasses together, gulping down the entire contents in one go. If Francis wanted him to forget about Arthur and just relax then that was what he would do. Plus, if he got smashed, he wouldn't have to think about how perfect Arthur and Matthew looked together, and how awkward he would probably look in his brother's place.

"You never stop at half-measures, do you?" Francis stated, but he was looking pleased.

"I can hold my liquor," Alfred replied, pouring himself another glass.

"As expected," Francis sighed, but his smile had turned devious. "C'est bon?"

Alfred hadn't even stopped to think about the taste. He supposed it was good, but he was never really much of a wine person – and usually when he set out to get hammered it was on something more substantial like whiskey. "It's good enough."

The waiter came back to take their orders and Francis ordered for him as Alfred looked out the window, trying his best to keep his gaze away from Arthur. He could feel the alcohol beginning to take effect, but after two glasses, it was still just a slight buzz at the edge of his consciousness – certainly not enough to get him where he wanted to be.

Francis kept on refilling his glass so that it was never empty and by the time their food came, Alfred found himself laughing at Francis's remarks as he relaxed back in his chair – a healthy haze of euphoria blanketing his senses. Francis's hand was once again upon his, a thumb caressing his skin, and Alfred only leaned forward, smiling goofily at the things Francis did or said.

He didn't notice the way Arthur stiffened in his seat, a look of shock painting his expression as the man noticed Alfred and Francis sitting there for the first time – or the way the man's eyebrow's knit in anger, his eyes sending daggers at Francis with barely concealed hurt.

He didn't notice the way Arthur stood up abruptly and excused himself from Matthew, his face twisted into a scowl, leaving the perplexed Canadian to pick up the bill for them both.

He didn't notice any of this, but Francis did, and the Frenchman smiled to himself, rubbing his thumb along the back of Alfred's hand as the American laughed.

* * *

TBC…


	4. Hope

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or any of its nations

Chapter 4: Hope

When Alfred woke up the next morning to the ring of his alarm clock he felt like absolute crap. His head was pounding, his eyes stung the moment the light hit his retinas, and his mouth was dry and tasted like something had crawled in and died there.

He brushed his teeth and took his shower quickly, feeling nauseous as he dressed in front of the mirror and ran a hand sluggishly through his hair.

He tried to remember exactly how he'd gotten back to bed the night before as he walked down to the meeting room, but all he could pick out were images of Francis pouring more and more wine into his glass at that expensive restaurant.

Alfred groaned and tried to fight off a wave of dizziness when he reached the conference room doors. He hadn't gotten this drunk in ages, he'd almost forgotten what a hangover felt like – and yet again he was reminded of why he'd never liked getting drunk. If the hangover wasn't bad enough, the idea that he couldn't remember the night before left him feeling uneasy. He'd never liked being out of control. He really didn't want to do that anytime soon, and now in hindsight, he was a bit irritated with Francis for instigating it.

He was definitely going to have a word with the Frenchman about his methods.

But as he pushed through the doors and entered the conference room a hand grabbed his upper arm and he was pulled back out and into the hallway. His head pounded and another wave of dizziness hit him at the sudden loss of balance, but the moment he opened his eyes he saw Arthur standing in front of him.

"Alfred…I need to speak with you…" Arthur had looked agitated but then his eyes widened as if seeing Alfred's condition for the first time, his expression turning concerned. "Alfred, are you alright?"

Alfred was suddenly very aware of the hand that still gripped his arm and the close proximity at which Arthur was standing in front of him. His heart pounded in his ears and it only increased the throbbing in his head and the vertigo attacking his senses. Arthur began to look more concerned, his other hand coming up to grip Alfred's other arm in an attempt to steady him as he swayed involuntarily.

"Did you get drunk last night?" Arthur murmured, his face closer to Alfred's than the American had expected.

"Uh…" Alfred mumbled lamely, most of his already strained brain functions shutting down as he felt Arthur's warm breath against his nose and upper lip.

"You were, weren't you?" Arthur stated, his eyebrows knitting in something akin to exasperation. "What were you thinking?"

"Um…" Alfred replied just as incoherently, staring into Arthur's green eyes as if transfixed. Just a few more inches and he could pull the smaller man into his arms and bury his face into the man's shoulder. That was how most of his dreams began.

"I saw you with Francis." And then Arthur's voice suddenly became hard, bitter, and Alfred could feel the man's body tense, the grip on Alfred's arms tightening. "You ate dinner with him."

"Oh…" Alfred began lamely. He had almost forgotten Arthur had been in the same restaurant, but now his fists clenched as he remembered Matthew had been sitting with Arthur across from Alfred's table. He didn't know that Arthur had realized Alfred and Francis were there though. "Yeah…"

Arthur looked up at him, his gaze searching. The man looked hurt, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. His voice was low and rough. "Have you two been seeing each other?"

"Uh…yeah," Alfred replied without thinking. "We've been meeting a bit…he's been helping me with…" And then he finally trailed off, catching himself before he revealed too much. Arthur sent him a suspicious look. "Uh…stuff."

"I see," Arthur stated, frowning even deeper, his eyebrows twitching as if he was in pain, before his expression switched off, leaving his features completely unreadable. "Well, then…I hope you two are…happy together."

"Wha…?" Alfred began, but Arthur was already re-entering the conference room, leaving him swaying stupidly in the hall.

Alfred placed one hand against the wall for balance and just stood there, certain things from the previous conversation clicking together within his mind. It wasn't long before the thoughts finished coming together and he was left scowling into empty space.

_That French pervert…_

Once Alfred regained his bearings, he pushed through the double doors to find the meeting already in session. Arthur was the only one who didn't turn his head to see who had come in, his back stiff as the tip of his pen once again dug into the notepad on his lap. Alfred sat down beside Francis and glared at him openly. The Frenchman ignored him, but Alfred was having none of it.

Ludwig was droning on about wind turbines and alternative fuel cells when Alfred grabbed the Frenchman by the collar and bodily pulled him out of the room before he could protest, leaving the nations inside staring at him in shock before the doors swung closed.

Alfred pushed Francis against the wall beside the doors and glared at him, his hand still curled around the man's collar. "Francis…you…"

"What is it, Amerique?" Francis interrupted, having the gall to look simply bemused by the situation. "What did our dear Angleterre have to say?"

"He seems to think that we are _going out_," Alfred barked, not letting Francis derail him from what he had to say. "I wonder how he'd gotten that idea?"

"Hm…I wonder," Francis agreed, that same irritatingly innocent smile on his lips as he watched Alfred.

"Don't get smart with me, freedom-fries!" Alfred retorted vehemently, Francis's eyes widened a bit. "You planned this."

"Of course I did," Francis replied mildly. "I told you I would help you gain Angleterre's affections, no?"

"But you've made it worse!" Alfred exclaimed, pulling his hand away from Francis's collar to rake it through his own hair in frustration. "Now he thinks that I…with you…" Alfred paused and gave Francis a look. "Just ew…no offense, but _ew_."

Francis only sighed, ignoring Alfred's last remark. "Yes, our dear Angleterre seems unusually interested in our love life."

"There is no love life between us!" Alfred clarified, wringing his hands in the air in frustration.

"Of course not, mon cher," Francis soothed, patting Alfred's shoulder as if he was an agitated dog. "But the thought that there is seems to bother cher Angleterre greatly, non?"

Alfred simply stared at him, his hands almost comically suspended beside his head as he took in Francis's words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that Angleterre seems awfully frustrated at the thought that you and I are lovers."

Alfred stared, letting the Frenchman's words process, before he nearly choked in panic.

"Oh no." Alfred swung his hands in front of him agitatedly, his eyes wide with horror. "He's not in love with _you_, is he?"

Francis's eyes widened in shock, and then he laughed. "No, no, definitely not, mon cher. I'm sure there is some affection he must hold for me beneath all of that passionate hatred, but it certainly isn't love."

"Then…" Alfred stared at Francis, his hands dropping limply to his sides at the implications as the man gazed back at him unblinkingly, his expression encouraging. Alfred shook his head a bit, "No…it can't be…"

But memories from the last few days flashed across his mind's eye and suddenly he noticed things he hadn't before. The times Arthur's mood had turned especially sour and the way his green glare would focus on Francis whenever the man had been close to Alfred. The way his cheeks had flushed when Francis had goaded him about Alfred. Arthur's hurt, bitter expression when he had asked Alfred about his dinner with Francis the night before. He had to admit, it all fit, but he still couldn't believe it.

"You were trying to make him jealous?" Alfred asked with disbelief, staring at Francis as if he'd never truly seen the man before.

Francis merely shrugged. "He already was. I simply pushed it along."

"You think so?" And suddenly Alfred's tone was vulnerable, unable to keep the hope from bleeding into his voice.

Francis surveyed Alfred with his piercing gaze as the man leaned back against the wall behind him. A small familiar smile quirked his handsome features. "It's obvious, non?"

Alfred merely stood there, staring. He suddenly felt tense with anxiety and anticipation, his heart beat pulsing loudly in his ears as if his body knew he was potentially on the cusp of something monumental. He wrestled with his residual feelings of doubt and Francis chuckled a bit, once again clapping Alfred on the back.

"I still can't believe it," Alfred murmured with a frown, his doubt beginning to take over once again.

"Angleterre is a stubborn man," Francis stated, his tone reassuring. "It is difficult for him to show his feelings, especially toward the one he feels most passionately."

Alfred nodded a bit, knowing it was true. He could feel the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile, and he swallowed nervously.

Francis leaned in and kissed him on both cheeks, holding Alfred's face in his hands as he looked at him.

"Go get him, mon ami." Francis smiled, his eyes twinkling deviously. "He is waiting."

* * *

Alfred tapped his fingers restlessly as the meeting progressed, waiting for it to end so he could speak to Arthur again. Arthur was still looking moody and ignoring him, but Alfred gazed across at him every few minutes if only for a chance to catch the man's eye.

So many thoughts and emotions were swirling through his head, he thought he might burst with it all, but the overriding one was anxiety with a healthy side-helping of doubt. With the way Arthur looked now, it was easy to assume that Francis was wrong about the entire thing and that Arthur was really, truly just angry at him for God knew what.

By the time the meeting had ended, Alfred had practically worked himself into a lather, and he was a bundle of nerves. He was wiping his sweaty palms on the wooden table-top in front of him when a hand shook his shoulder, and he looked over to Francis who was nodding meaningfully toward the doors. Alfred looked around and just caught Arthur stepping out. He jumped up without really thinking about it and practically ran after him, but he stopped short before he could fall over Arthur who was now having a nice chat with Matthew out in the hall.

Alfred scowled a bit until Matthew noticed him, sending him a curious look. "Alfred, do you want something?"

"Uh…yeah," Alfred replied, pasting a smile on his face that he hoped was convincingly familiar as Arthur turned around to look at him too. "I just need to borrow Arthur for a sec."

Matthew nodded and smiled. "Of course, see you tomorrow, Arthur, Alfred."

"Yes, see you," Arthur replied, a polite smile on his face, although when he glanced back at Alfred his expression fell noticeably.

Alfred waved a bit as his brother left down the hall, trying to look pleasant until the man was out of sight. Then he finally switched his attention back to Arthur and his previous anxiety hit him full-force. Arthur was watching him, waiting, that small frown tugging at his mouth as his patience began to wane.

"What is it, Alfred?" His voice was clipped and to the point. He looked as if he would like nothing better than to turn around and leave, his green eyes glancing away from Alfred's face every few minutes in clear discomfort.

"Um…" Alfred didn't really know what to say. He knew what he should say, but he didn't know exactly how to phrase it, and truthfully he was afraid how Arthur would take it. So, he decided to start small. "There's nothing going on between me and Francis."

Arthur's eyes widened a bit, but he didn't say anything. There was some emotion swirling within those emerald orbs that Alfred couldn't quite place, but Arthur was watching him now, no longer looking away.

"He was just…" Alfred began haltingly, wondering how he should explain everything without giving too much away at first. "giving me etiquette lessons."

"Etiquette lessons?" Arthur repeated disbelievingly, although he looked markedly relieved, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

Alfred wanted to kiss them. Instead he nodded.

"But why would you ever want to learn etiquette from that frog?" Arthur asked, a note of light disdain coloring his voice. However, his voice turned softer and his expression looked slightly vulnerable when he spoke next. "You could have asked me."

"Uh…you?" Alfred asked carefully. He wasn't so sure he wanted to learn etiquette from Arthur either. It just wasn't his thing. It never had been, and Arthur had already tried to beat it into him in the past. An effort that had completely failed if his current manners, or lack thereof, were any evidence.

"Well, yes," Arthur began, although he appeared a bit flustered. "British manners are certainly preferable to French manners after all. If one can even propose the French have manners at all."

"Okay," Alfred replied slowly, knowing to act amenable when Arthur got started on the French.

"I could give you a lesson, if you'd like," Arthur murmured, his voice low as he brushed his fingers through one of the blond bangs that hung in front of his ear. "I'm free tonight."

"Uh…" Alfred replied lamely, the thought of meeting with Arthur after dark slightly short-circuiting his brain.

"That is, of course, if you aren't busy," Arthur rushed, his gaze slipped to something past Alfred's right arm and Alfred looked around to see Francis standing there, having a chat with Antonio.

"No!" Alfred blurted a little too loudly, and then he coughed self-consciously. "_No_…uh…tonight would be fine."

"Alright." Arthur smiled and Alfred's stomach did flip-flops. "Then I'll wait for you in the lobby at six, shall I?"

Alfred only nodded, swallowing thickly when Arthur sent him another smile, more contented than the first. He watched Arthur walk down the hall and out of sight before Francis placed an arm around Alfred's shoulders and leaned his face toward his ear.

"How did it go, mon cher?" Francis asked.

"I think…we're going out to dinner," Alfred replied in disbelief, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation as he ran a hand through his hair.

"A date?" Francis replied, looking pleased.

"Uh…not exactly," Alfred replied, sighing a bit morosely. "Etiquette lessons."

Francis chuckled. "Do not worry, Amerique. The British have no sense of etiquette. Your lesson will be short."

Alfred just shook his head and walked away with a tired wave, he had almost forgotten that the age old rivalry went both ways.

"Good luck, mon cher!" Francis called after him, and Alfred smiled, trying to ignore the way his stomach was tying itself quite successfully into knots.

* * *

TBC…


	5. Frustration

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or any of its nations

Chapter 5: Frustration

Alfred looked himself over in the mirror and, for the first time in his life, wasn't pleased with what he saw. All of the flaws became immediately apparent as he scrutinized his reflection. Nantucket refused to lie flat, no matter how much gel he squirted on top of it, the glass on Texas wasn't completely clean no matter how much he wiped it, his teeth weren't as white as he'd remembered, and his nicest suit didn't fit right. Plus, he couldn't decide if he should wear the red, white and blue American flag tie or his bald eagle print tie.

On top of it all, it felt like a flock of butterflies had taken residence in his stomach and his hands were shaking a bit as he tried to brush his teeth again for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. He spat into the sink and was about to pick up his toothbrush and do it all over again, before he glanced at the reflection of his clock visible in the mirror and read it backwards. It was already five minutes after six.

_Fuck…_

Alfred threw down his toothbrush and dashed out of his room, taking the stairs instead of the elevator and arriving in the lobby, slightly out of breath, to find Arthur sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for him.

"Hey," Alfred greeted when Arthur stood and stepped in front of him.

"The first rule of good etiquette is…" Arthur began, looking slightly irritated, but he was cut off.

"…being on time, I know, sorry," Alfred stated, frowning at the stupid mistake he had made. "Francis made that pretty clear."

He realized he had said something wrong when Arthur's expression closed off a bit, and his tone turned frosty. "Yes, well, being punctual is very important. It tells your partner that you value their time."

Alfred could basically hear the silent, 'It's pretty obvious you don't value _my_ time,' at the end of Arthur's speech and he winced. With that, Arthur turned around stiffly and made his way toward the lobby door without a backward glance. Alfred felt like kicking himself. The night was already getting off to a bad start and it hadn't even begun.

They walked to their destination in silence and Alfred realized it was the same Italian restaurant Francis had taken him to the night before. He supposed it made sense, since the only other nice restaurant in the area was French.

They were seated with little preamble. The table was another round one situated in a windowed alcove. Yet again, a candle provided the lighting as a single rose bloomed in a vase at the center.

Alfred felt awkward as he sat down across from Arthur. The man was barely looking at him as he surveyed his menu, frown tugging at his mouth. Alfred bit his lip, wondering what to do to save the situation.

"What are you getting?" Alfred blurted out for want of something better to say.

Arthur finally looked up at him, appearing tired. "Another rule of good etiquette: Let your partner peruse the menu and decide on their choice before asking what they will be ordering."

Arthur's gaze dropped and once again he was looking at the menu, the frown once again tugging at his lips.

Alfred sighed and looked at his own menu, deciding that nothing looked particularly appetizing. He wasn't even hungry anyway – what with the giant winged-insects that had now made a home in his digestive tract.

He was beginning to feel depressed by the time the waiter arrived to take their order. Arthur ordered a bottle of Italian chardonnay for the both of them, before Alfred could object. He then ordered the veal with garlic roast potatoes, leaving Alfred to sigh and order the spaghetti for lack of anything better.

Arthur sent him a look after the waiter left, but said nothing, and Alfred frowned. Of course Arthur wouldn't approve of his dinner choice, and yet again they were left to sit in an awkward silence.

The waiter came back with the wine and poured some for Arthur, which he tasted and deemed good, before the waiter carefully poured a portion of the bottle into each of their glasses. Arthur immediately picked his up to sip from, but Alfred abstained, not even wanting to taste wine for a while.

Arthur gave him a questioning look, but said nothing.

The silence ran on and it wasn't long before Alfred couldn't take it anymore. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

He hadn't meant to sound snide in any way, but Arthur had apparently taken it that way, because the man's eyebrows twitched in irritation.

"There are many things you need to know, but I'm afraid there simply isn't enough time in one night to teach you," Arthur snapped.

"Arthur…" Alfred tried to soothe the man. He wanted to brush his hand across Arthur's cheek to complement the sentiment, but he knew that wasn't possible, so he settled for sliding his hand halfway across the table. "I want you to teach me."

"You had wanted that wine-bastard to teach you as well," Arthur muttered, barely audible, but Alfred caught it.

"That's not true," Alfred replied, deciding to bend the truth a bit for lack of context. "He offered and I took it, but I didn't necessarily want it."

Arthur stared at him, his expression searching, before he nodded slightly. "Alright."

"Besides, it's like you said," Alfred added, smiling a bit as relief flooded through him, calming the butterflies somewhat. "The French don't know anything about manners."

Arthur smiled a bit at the joke and the waiter arrived with their food. Alfred was about to dig in, but Arthur put up a hand to stop him.

"Pace yourself when you eat," Arthur instructed. "Only take bite-sized portions with your utensil and chew with your mouth closed."

Alfred nodded, deciding to humor the man if only to avoid getting on his bad side again. He shook his head as he carefully picked up his fork.

Loving someone – especially someone like Arthur – could be hard work.

He rolled a bite-sized portion of spaghetti onto his fork and took it into his mouth, making sure to chew with his mouth closed and avoid getting any sauce on his face. Arthur sent him a smile and Alfred gulped his mouthful down, feeling warm all over.

Then again, the hard work was worth it.

He was wondering if this would be a good time to finally confess his feelings, and he was beginning to gather his courage, when Arthur spoke.

"Do you not like your wine?" Arthur asked, and Alfred started a bit before looking down at his full glass.

"I'm not much of a wine person," Alfred shrugged, remembering his terrible hangover and glaring at the glass for good measure.

"I see." But Arthur looked suspicious. "You should try it, you might like it.

Alfred shook his head. "No, thanks."

And then Arthur got to the heart of the matter. "I suppose this isn't as good as French wine."

"It doesn't matter where it's from," Alfred replied, suddenly feeling wary again. He still wasn't sure how much of Alfred's dinner with Francis last night Arthur had seen. At the moment, Arthur was staring gloomily into space as if recounting the things that Alfred couldn't remember, his eyebrows knitted.

"You seemed to enjoy it last night," Arthur murmured, and Alfred didn't miss his accusing tone.

"I only drank it because Francis wanted me to," Alfred stated, feeling a bit irritated that Arthur couldn't seem to let the night before go. He didn't really know what had happened or what he may have done, but he was sure it wasn't horrible enough to warrant Arthur's questioning.

He only realized it might have been the wrong thing to say when Arthur stared at him, his expression tight as if he was suppressing something. "Right, because you always do what Francis wants you to do."

"That's not true," Alfred retorted, starting to get frustrated.

"I think it is," Arthur stated coldly. "You listen to his instructions, you drink his wine, you laugh at his jokes, you let him touch you at inappropriate times…!"

Arthur clamped his mouth shut abruptly as if regretting what he had said. Alfred stared at him.

Arthur frowned and stood up stiffly.

"Arthur…" Alfred began, but the man cut him off, his head bowed a bit so that his bangs covered his eyes with shadows from the candlelight.

"Please excuse me," he murmured and he looked pained. "I…I'm tired."

Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm as the man tried to walk past, but Arthur just glared at him and shook him off. Alfred pulled his hand back and watched helplessly as Arthur left the restaurant.

Alfred stared morosely at the two plates of half-eaten food in front of him, his own full wine glass glinting in the candlelight mockingly. He called for the check and numbly paid for everything, before he was outside walking back to the hotel.

He was frustrated with everything by the time he got back into his room and he fell face-first onto his pillow, letting out a long muffled yell into its softness. He banged the mattress beside his head once for good measure, and then he just lay there limp.

The 'date' had been an utter disaster. He still didn't know how to talk to Arthur without making the man angry or upset with him. Why did Arthur have to be so difficult? He'd been so nice before the Revolution and ever since he'd been as prickly as a porcupine.

_But he's fine with Matthew_, his mind unhelpfully supplied.

Alfred scowled like a petulant child, remembering how much Arthur seemed to enjoy Matthew's company on the many occasions he'd seen them together. He could never seem to do or say anything to make Arthur happy, and it was frustrating as all hell.

Alfred punched his pillow into shape and turned onto his back, gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. Maybe it was hopeless after all. They were just too different and they had too much history that made things difficult.

Logically, it made sense to fall in love with someone else, but his heart didn't listen to logic. No, his heart was dead-set on Arthur.

Yet again he wondered if Francis was right about Arthur already loving him back. He simply couldn't see it, if this 'date' told him anything.

Alfred groaned with frustration and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow his heart would decide to make him illogically, insanely in love with someone else. He chuckled humorlessly. Not likely.

And with that last melancholy thought, Alfred drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * *

TBC…


	6. Anger

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or its nations

Chapter 6: Anger

As if his luck hadn't been bad enough, Alfred's alarm clock didn't ring the next morning and he woke up from his fitful sleep about thirty minutes late. He cursed and stumbled out of bed, rushing to pull his clothes on without taking his usual shower. He glanced at the mirror to see bags under his eyes and his expression turned morose.

He had barely slept. After falling asleep the night before, he had inexplicably woken up at around two in the morning and was kept awake by thoughts of Arthur and fears that he might have messed things up for good. He had finally fallen back to sleep at around five, but it was a fitful dreamless sleep.

Now he just felt worn out and frustrated. He wasn't really looking forward to going down to the meeting and seeing Arthur again. He didn't know what he could say to make things right, and knowing Arthur, the man would just find something else to hold against him. He ran a hand through his hair and pushed Texas up the bridge of his nose with more force than necessary. He brushed his teeth and spit before wiping his mouth with a towel, all the while brooding over the night before.

By the time he'd left his room, he was scowling, deciding to take the slower elevator instead of dashing down the stairs. He didn't really care that he was late. This was their last day of meetings, if he could just get through this one, he'd be home free and Arthur wouldn't have to see him again for months.

That last thought stung, but if last night was any indication, Alfred knew Arthur would be happier without him around, and maybe then it would be easier for Alfred to ignore that he was in love with the man.

Somehow, Alfred knew deep down that that was impossible. His love for Arthur wasn't something that had just popped up out of nowhere, even though it had seemed that way at first. He knew that it had always been there to some degree, just beneath the surface, and it had only needed time to grow before Alfred simply couldn't ignore it anymore. It wasn't just some passing phase that he could just get over. This was real, and if his sleepless night was any indication, it struck deep.

Alfred pressed his forehead against the double doors to the conference room with a sigh, steeling himself for what lay beyond. Just one more day, and maybe it would get easier. Alfred frowned, but pushed through the doors anyway.

Some nations glanced at him as he sat down in his usual seat next to Francis, but Arthur wasn't one of them. The man was jotting down notes as Ludwig spoke, a concentrated frown on his face. Alfred stared at him longingly, before he realized what he was doing and looked away.

Francis leaned toward him and spoke lowly into his ear. "I take it the date was unsuccessful?"

"How could you tell?" Alfred asked bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper. Arthur had stopped writing even though Ludwig was still talking, he looked agitated.

"You look like you've been hit by a truck," Francis replied dryly.

"Thanks for noticing," Alfred stated, suddenly not wanting to talk anymore as Arthur finally glanced over in his direction with a cold expression.

"What happened?" Francis pressed.

"Nothing," Alfred replied evasively.

He could feel Francis looking at him and he glanced at the man. Francis looked sympathetic and Alfred sighed.

"He left before we finished dinner," Alfred stated by way of explanation.

"Hm," Francis nodded and squeezed his arm sympathetically. "You did not confess?"

Alfred shook his head. "I don't think that would have been a good idea."

Francis gave him a look.

"It's true," Alfred retorted, still speaking under his breath. "He doesn't feel the same."

"And how do you know?" Francis pressed.

Alfred frowned and clenched his hands on the table top, glancing across at Arthur who was now glaring openly at them. "He's never happy around me."

"That is because unrequited love is painful, mon ami," Francis replied gently, placing an arm around Alfred's shoulders and shaking him a bit as if that would help convince Alfred of the truth in his words.

Alfred shook his head and sighed, not knowing what to believe, but agreeing all the same with the general principle. "Tell me about it."

He heard Francis sigh beside him, and the man opened his mouth to speak, but another voice interrupted him.

"It's rude to chat while someone is speaking."

Alfred stiffened and looked up. Arthur was glaring at them, clearly agitated, and the rest of the nations had turned toward him as well. Ludwig, himself, had stopped talking, looking slightly bewildered by the interruption.

Alfred stiffened, but Francis merely smiled, replying easily. "I'm sure you were the only one bothered, Angleterre. We were being quite discreet."

"Indeed," Arthur replied sarcastically. "And what were you two discussing?"

"Something important," Francis replied calmly, smiling.

Arthur scowled, sarcasm still apparent in his voice. "More important than what Ludwig had to say, I'm sure."

"It's true," Francis replied, having the gall to look amused.

"Then why don't you share it with the rest of us?" Arthur pressed, his glare switching to Alfred. Alfred could see a flash of hurt in the man's eyes before it was gone. "Or is it only something important between the two of you?"

"Order, order!" Ludwig had exclaimed, a frown on his face, but Alfred ignored it and replied.

"We were…" Alfred began, fishing for something to alleviate Arthur's agitation and trying to look as calm as Francis did. "Just talking about my government's plan to combat climate change."

"Let's hear it then," Arthur ordered, looking thoroughly unconvinced, his expression one of betrayal.

Alfred thought quickly, but his mind was blank. Francis wasn't helping, only watching him expectantly. Alfred wanted to throttle the man's neck, but instead he fished around next to his chair for his briefcase, thinking he could just present his boss's presentation, but he soon realized his briefcase was nowhere to be found. He'd obviously forgotten it in his room in his rush to get down to the meeting.

He cursed and Arthur's right eye brow rose in question, his expression dark.

"I've forgotten my briefcase," Alfred blurted in explanation.

"Typical." Arthur rolled his eyes, and his glare intensified.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Alfred retorted, allowing this morning's frustration to finally bubble up and take over.

"It means this kind of irresponsible behavior is to be expected of you," Arthur stated harshly, and he was leaning forward in his chair now, his hands tense against the table top.

"Excuse me if I don't meet with your impossible standards," Alfred retorted, and suddenly he wondered if this argument was really about presentations anymore.

The rest of the nations in the room seemed to feel the tense atmosphere, because many of them were sending the two worried looks, and Ludwig was looking beside himself. Francis and Antonio were sharing a look, and Matthew looked nervous as his gaze darted between Arthur and Alfred.

Arthur's eyes widened and he sent Alfred a look, before glaring at Francis and then at Alfred in turn. "You are such a _child_."

"In case you haven't noticed," Alfred began, his voice rising as he stood up to his full height and pointed a thumb at his chest. "I've grown up!"

"Not where it counts!" Arthur retorted, clearly enraged, and stood up as well. "You're completely clueless!"

"_Clueless?!_ Me?!" Alfred's tone was incredulous and he laughed humorlessly. "You're the one who's clueless, old man!"

"What are you on about, welp?!" Arthur leaned over the table, looking perfectly apoplectic. "I assure you, I know more than you'll ever know about anything!"

Alfred mimicked the man's stance and soon they were face to face, only inches between them as they both leaned over the table. Alfred was angrier than he had been in a long time and he actually glared at Arthur, his voice louder than necessary.

"You can't even see what's right in front of your face!"

"And what's that?!" Arthur questioned challengingly, his face flushed with rage. "Is it my huge eyebrows? Is that it?! Is this yet another set-up of yours to demean me?"

"No!" Alfred retorted, frustrated with how lowly Arthur thought of him.

"Then what could it _possibly _be?!" Arthur challenged bitterly, his green eyes flashing.

"IT'S THE FACT THAT I AM COMPLETELY IN LOVE WITH YOU!" Alfred shouted, his forefinger pointing at Arthur's chest for good measure.

It only took a moment for Alfred to realize what he had just said as the room went deathly silent. Arthur was staring at him, wide-eyed, his glare completely forgotten.

"What?" The question was soft, breathless, and Arthur appeared in shock.

"Um…" Alfred could feel his cheeks flush and he leaned back, no longer mere inches away from Arthur's face. "I…uh…"

Arthur was looking at him expectantly, almost as if he was pleading for something, but Alfred pushed a hand through his hair, completely embarrassed and frightened as he looked at Arthur's shell-shocked expression. "I…uh…have to go."

And then he dashed out of the room before anyone could stop him, meeting be damned.

He made it up the stairs and into his room in ten seconds flat, his briefcase greeting him mockingly at the foot of the door. He paced the room agitatedly, wringing his hands, before falling onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling with a horrified expression.

He lay there for a bit, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing rapid, wanting to kick himself for his outburst. It hadn't been the first time he had put his foot in his mouth but it had been the first time he'd really cared about the consequences.

Suddenly all of his worst fears were fighting to the surface of his consciousness. What if Arthur hated him? What if he was disgusted? He'd looked so shocked, but Alfred hadn't been able to tell anything more than that. Was this the end of their so-called special relationship that the British and American people were so fond of eliciting on occasion? Would Arthur ever speak to him again?

_What if he feels the same way?_ a smaller voice in the back of his mind asked, but he shook his head, not wanting to get his hopes up.

Alfred sat up and ran a hand through his hair, vaguely realizing it was greasy since he had missed his shower that morning. Morosely, he got up and pulled off his clothes, stepping into the shower before it even got warm. He let the cold water run down the terrain of his body and waited for the warmth to come. He washed himself mechanically and wondered if he could convince Arthur that it had been a joke. He was sure if he denied it long enough, Arthur would have to believe it eventually.

That was his only hope.

* * *

TBC…


	7. Release

Disclaimer: I do not own APH or its nations

Chapter 7: Release

Alfred sighed and turned off the tap, stepping out of the shower and ruffling his hair with a towel. He nearly missed the sound of someone knocking on his door, but when he heard it, his entire body stiffened. He waited in silence, hoping he had just been hearing things, but the knocking sound came back, this time louder and more insistent than before.

Then he heard that voice. "Alfred…? Are you in?"

He remained still, hoping that Arthur would just give up and go away, but the knocking continued.

"Alfred…please…"

Alfred listened, but Arthur went silent. The man had sounded upset, and Alfred couldn't just ignore it, even if he'd wanted to. The American nearly tripped over himself as he bolted into action, wrapping one of the larger towels around his waist, before making his way to the door.

He pulled the doorknob and opened the door slowly, revealing Arthur on the other side. Arthur just stood there, staring at him with slightly wide eyes, and suddenly Alfred was very aware that he was half-naked.

"Um…" Alfred coughed lamely to fill the awkward silence, self-consciously tugging at the dog tags that hung around his neck.

"Ah…yes…right," Arthur said, looking away from Alfred's chest and coloring slightly. His eyes darted to anywhere other than Alfred, his hands fidgeting in front of him. Alfred thought the man looked adorable even though Alfred himself was preparing for the inevitable angry accusations the older nation had surely come to dole out. Arthur finally glanced back up at him when Alfred didn't do or say anything. "I wonder…if I might come in?"

"Uh…sure," Alfred mumbled, nonplussed, before stepping back and opening the door wider.

Arthur stepped in and looked around, as if this was the first time he had ever been in a hotel room. His eyes swept over everything except Alfred until his gaze stopped conspicuously on the bed, his cheeks coloring further.

"So…um…" Alfred's voice sounded too loud in his ears, but he pushed on. Arthur turned around and looked at him, appearing nervous. "What…uh…brings you here?"

Alfred wanted to smack himself for the stupid question, but instead he just stood there, waiting for Arthur to say something or to yell at him like he'd been expecting.

"I…" Arthur bit his lip, eyes darting away again, before he seemed to come to some sort of decision and he stepped forward toward Alfred, his gaze locked on Alfred's face. "Had you meant what you'd said…back in the conference room?"

Alfred looked away and toyed with his dog tags nervously, suddenly feeling over-exposed. "Uh…which part?"

Arthur looked uncertain, but he stepped forward again, stopping right in front of Alfred where Alfred could feel the heat radiating off of his smaller body. His voice was softer and lower than usual, but Alfred heard every word as if it had been shouted into his ear. "The part where you said you…love me."

"Uh…" Alfred pushed a hand through his wet hair and looked away. He wasn't sure how to handle this, and Arthur's proximity was already driving him mad with desire in a way that even his nerves couldn't completely dampen. "That wasn't really…I mean…you know…I…"

"Alfred…"

Alfred stopped when a hand slid along his jaw and guided his face back to the smaller man. Another hand wrapped around his dog tags and pulled.

The next thing Alfred knew, Arthur's lips were on his, moving insistently. Momentarily getting past the shock, Alfred leaned forward almost immediately. Warm hands caressed his bare chest, the touch tingling in a way that made his breath hitch.

Arthur's lips lingered as Alfred shakily brought his hands up to cup Arthur's cheek and the back of his neck, but Alfred didn't push anything. He was waiting for Arthur to set the pace. He still couldn't really believe this was happening and the last thing he wanted was to scare Arthur away from whatever this was.

Eventually, Arthur pulled away, coming back in a bit for a small peck on the lips, before he pulled all the way back. Alfred opened his eyes and stared down at him dazedly. Arthur's hands were still pressed against his chest and Alfred was still cupping Arthur's head and neck with his hands.

"What…?"

"Was that…alright?" Arthur asked, suddenly looking unsure as a blush dusted his cheeks.

Alfred stared for a moment and then chuckled, leaning in to kiss Arthur again, softly. "It was great."

Arthur smiled when Alfred pulled away, and leaned in again, murmuring against Alfred's lips. "You're such an idiot."

Alfred pressed forward, taking Arthur's lips, a small smile on his face. He almost couldn't believe this was happening, but he wasn't stupid, he knew what Arthur kissing him must mean – and it made him feel great – better than great. "Mmhm."

"So you," Arthur gasped a bit when Alfred took the liberty of nibbling his lower lip. "Admit it then?"

Alfred shook his head, "No." And then, feeling bolder, he licked Arthur's lower lip with his tongue.

"You're such a prat," Arthur gasped, but his hands had moved around to Alfred's broad back where they kneaded and caressed the bare flesh.

Alfred chuckled. He dipped his tongue in Arthur's mouth experimentally and Arthur let him, almost immediately sliding his own tongue against his in greeting.

"You don't seem to have a problem with me," Alfred quipped with a smile, sliding his tongue yet again along Arthur's lower lip.

"Looks can be deceiving," Arthur retorted, but he sounded amused, and Alfred slid his hands down Arthur's back to his butt and pulled him closer.

Alfred could clearly feel Arthur's half-hard arousal behind the material of his pants and he grinned as Arthur gasped involuntarily. "Something tells me, I'm right about this."

"Sodding git," Arthur muttered, but his lips were tugged up into a small smile. "You don't seem too unwilling yourself."

Alfred held Arthur's backside in place and rolled his hips to grind himself against him. Arthur moaned and Alfred bit back his own before grinning cheekily. "Nope."

"Arrogant bastard," Arthur muttered another yet epithet. Something he seemed fond of doing.

"That's what you like about me…" Alfred quipped and then paused, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He straightened up a bit and Arthur stared at him curiously. "Right?"

Arthur leaned forward and kissed him. It was short and sweet and the hands at Alfred's back clenched a bit as if trying to tell him something through touch alone. "Right."

Alfred smiled against Arthur's lips and he exhaled. "Good."

Arthur gasped in surprise when Alfred leaned down and hooked his arms under Arthur's legs, pulling them up around his hips. The smaller nation immediately wrapped his legs around Alfred's backside, if only to ensure that he wouldn't fall and Alfred smiled, clasping the man around the bum and holding him steady. Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck to hold himself up and Alfred took advantage of the resultant proximity by kissing Arthur again as his hand kneaded the flesh of Arthur's firm buttocks.

Arthur moaned a bit, his fingers intertwining in Alfred's hair at the nape of his neck, and Alfred moved his lips to Arthur's jaw, sucking and nipping the flesh before licking it thoroughly. Arthur's head lolled back in response, exposing his neck further to him.

Alfred took the opportunity and leaned forward to suck on the pulse point right below Arthur's jaw, the quick heart beat fluttering tantalizingly against his lips.

"Alfred…" Arthur groaned, and Alfred stiffened, the pleasure in Arthur's tone going right to his groin and suddenly making it difficult to stand.

Alfred stumbled a bit toward the bed, still carrying Arthur against him, before he carefully leaned down and laid Arthur on his back. When Arthur's legs slid off of his hips, they took the towel with them and Alfred was left completely bare. Arthur was still latched around his neck, making Alfred bend over him, so the Englishman couldn't see their new predicament, but either way, Alfred found he didn't much care.

He pressed his body down against Arthur's length and he gasped a bit when he felt his bare erection rub up against Arthur's clothed one. Arthur rolled his hips up against his in response and Alfred had to bite his lip and prop himself up with his elbows on either side of Arthur's head so that he didn't collapse onto the smaller nation with his full weight.

Arthur bucked again, moving his warm hands around and down Alfred's back, and Alfred shuddered at the contact, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder and inhaling the man's unique and familiar scent – a heady mixture of green grass, earl grey, and ocean-spray.

Pale hands reached Alfred's bare butt, and suddenly Arthur stiffened, his breath hitching. Alfred pulled back to see Arthur's eyes wide, mouth panting under flushed cheeks.

"Alfred…you're…completely…"

Alfred kissed his cheeks, smiling softly at how flustered Arthur had gotten. "I know."

Arthur's fingers twitched against his flesh experimentally and Alfred flexed his glutes in response, grinning when Arthur blushed harder.

Arthur himself was still fully dressed, shoes and all, and Alfred suddenly felt this was an unfair advantage. Alfred pulled back so that he was sitting on Arthur's lap and Arthur just stared at him, his eyes trailing down Alfred's body until they reached his bare erection. Alfred noted the look of appreciation in Arthur's eyes and smiled, suddenly feeling a lot bolder.

Alfred leaned forward and pulled the smaller man up into a sitting position. Arthur seemed to understand what he was doing because he wriggled out of his jacket and dropped it to the floor by the side of the bed without prompting, while Alfred got to work on the buttons on Arthur's dress shirt. Arthur helped him slide the shirt off to join the jacket on the floor, and Alfred was left gazing appreciatively at Arthur's lean muscular torso and pale, smooth skin.

Arthur's breathing was rapid, his chest heaving up and down, his mouth parted slightly. Alfred's breath hitched involuntarily at the sight. Only halfway undressed and the man already looked absolutely ravishable.

Alfred reverently slid a tan hand down Arthur's sternum and followed the ridges of the light six-pack, the warm flesh beneath his fingertips twitching in response, before his palm hit the waist of Arthur's dress pants,. Alfred caught the zipper between his thumb and forefinger and pulled down the fly, before unbuttoning the top button and smoothing his hands around to Arthur's hips.

Arthur let out a shaky breath and lifted his hips obligingly, Alfred pulling the waist down to his knees, before going down to take off Arthur's shoes and socks. Once all articles of Arthur's clothing were on the floor, Arthur was left sitting naked, looking completely vulnerable as Alfred stared at him openly.

"You're beautiful," Alfred stated, and he meant it. The real thing was even better than the dream.

Arthur's flesh was the same pale tone his entire length, only broken by faint scars along his legs and stomach. Alfred leaned forward, knees once again on the mattress, hovering over Arthur's legs, and traced the scars with his fingers.

Alfred looked up at Arthur and the man nodded, his voice soft and a little strained. "The blitz."

Alfred felt fingertips brush against the right side of his chest, where a small, but noticeable scar lay, and he answered the unspoken question. "Nine-eleven."

Arthur nodded and traced the fingertips of his other hand along a light scar just below Alfred's belly button. "Pearl Harbor?"

Alfred nodded.

Arthur removed his palm from where it had been resting on the scar from the World Trade Center and cupped Alfred's face. Alfred leaned into it before rotating his head to kiss the palm. Arthur watched him, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as Alfred took one long pale forefinger into his mouth and sucked.

"Alfred…" Arthur sounded strained and needy as Alfred moved on to his middle finger, giving it the same treatment. "I want…"

But Alfred muffled the man's next words with a kiss, pulling him forward by the wrist. Arthur's other hand managed to find Alfred's erection, however, and Alfred had to pull back for breath as Arthur fisted his length. Alfred groaned, unable to bite it back this time, slightly shocked that Arthur would be so proactive – very unlike the version he knew from his dreams. A callous thumb rubbed a circle around the head of his cock and Alfred decided very quickly that this difference could only be seen as an improvement.

Alfred leaned forward to rest his head against Arthur's shoulder and enjoy the sensations, but suddenly, Arthur's hands were pushing Alfred so that he rolled over onto his back and Arthur was on top, sitting on his legs so that their bare erections rubbed against each other with any slight movement. Alfred stared up at the unexpectedly strong nation in slight shock.

"Arthur…what…?"

"I want to do something," Arthur replied.

"I've never…" Alfred began, but Arthur cut him off.

"Don't worry," Arthur leaned forward and kissed him. "It's not like that."

Alfred must have looked plainly uncertain, because Arthur continued, his chest still heaving a bit.

"You'll enjoy it." And then Arthur's emerald-green eyes surveyed the room as if searching for something. "Where's your lubricant?"

Alfred felt a pang of anxiety for the first time since they had begun, but he pointed to his luggage pack right by the coat closet, and Arthur got up and went to it.

"In the front pocket."

Arthur nodded and Alfred sat up and stared as Arthur bent over to look through the front pocket and fished for the lube. Alfred wanted nothing more than to get up and take Arthur right then and there, but the Englishman seemed to have other plans, and Alfred was obliged to let him do it his way, if only to keep him happy. He had to trust that he would enjoy it like Arthur said.

Arthur walked back and crawled onto the bed. He sat on Alfred's lap and opened the lube, squirting some onto his fingers, before gripping Alfred's erection once again and slicking the lube along its length. Alfred groaned and shuddered at the unexpected contact of the cool gel on his hot flesh, involuntarily curling forward and resting his forehead against Arthur's shoulder.

The slickness warmed quickly under Arthur's palm and soon felt so good that Alfred thought he might come at any moment, but he did his best to abstain. Maybe it was a form of macho pride, but he didn't want to come before Arthur.

Arthur was panting against his ear, but soon he spoke into it when his hand finally pulled away from Alfred's throbbing cock, his voice husky. "Take the lube and prepare me."

The tube was pressed into Alfred's right hand and he pulled back to look at Arthur in confusion, but the man only smiled and took Alfred's right hand, opened the lube and squirted some generously on Alfred's two first fingers. He then guided Alfred's hand around his backside to his opening and pressed the two fingers against the tight ring of muscle.

Alfred finally understood and gulped before pressing in, wrapping his other arm around Arthur and pulling him closer against him so that he could get better access with his fingers. Arthur himself had his eyes closed and pressed his face against Alfred's shoulder and neck. When Alfred's fingers pressed in further and he could feel the hot tight muscle around their base, Arthur stiffened and hissed, panting warm breath against his neck.

"Are you alright?" Alfred asked, not wanting to accidentally hurt Arthur in any way.

Arthur nodded. "Only slightly uncomfortable. It's fine."

Alfred kissed Arthur's temple as he began to scissor his fingers and stretch the muscle. He curled them and he must have hit something, because Arthur stiffened and moaned loudly.

"_Fuck yes_," Arthur panted hoarsely, pushing back against Alfred's fingers as if he could prod that same spot against them with just the right angle. "Right there, Alfred."

Alfred repeated the motion and Arthur was writhing in his arms, sweat breaking out across his pale skin as his forehead buried further against the curve of Alfred's neck. Alfred maneuvered Arthur further against him so that the man's inner thighs were once again wrapping around his hips and their groins were rubbing against each other with every movement.

Arthur bucked against him and his curling fingers, his pale arms snaking around to hold onto the back of Alfred's neck. The friction of Arthur's erection against his was so profound, Alfred seriously wondered if he'd be able to hang on that much longer - especially as Arthur moaned into his ear with every thrust of his fingers – but just in time, Arthur gasped and abruptly stopped bucking, pulling back and pushing against Alfred's chest with his hands.

Alfred fell back against the mattress and his fingers unceremoniously slipped out of Arthur's entrance as Arthur remained sitting up on his lap. Arthur was panting, looking thoroughly debauched as beads of sweat trickled down his pale muscles. Alfred stared at him, desire tightening in his gut, his cock twitching, wondering why Arthur had stopped.

But Arthur didn't say anything. He scooted up on his knees so that he was hovering above Alfred's lap and then grabbed the base of Alfred's erection with one of his hands. Alfred gasped at the abruptness of the action and the sensitivity of his throbbing cock, but that wasn't anything compared to how it felt when Arthur sunk down and pushed the entire length of it into his entrance.

"_Fuck…!_" Alfred exclaimed as the tight heat consumed him. He hadn't expected that, and the pleasure that swirled in his gut was almost enough to send him over the edge. He gasped and gripped Arthur's outer thighs, scrambling for self-control.

Arthur was shuddering above him, hissing as he took Alfred's length in slowly to the hilt. He paused for a bit, seeming to acclimate himself to Alfred's size, before he moved experimentally and sent a wave of sensation into Alfred's cock that he couldn't bite back a moan in response to.

Arthur looked satisfied and then he moved again, lifting himself further before slamming back down at a different angle. This time, Arthur and Alfred moaned together.

Arthur adopted a frenzied pace after that, riding Alfred's erection with reckless abandon. Alfred panted against the strain of delaying his orgasm, determined to see Arthur lose control first. He wrapped a fist around Arthur's slick erection and squeezed.

Arthur stiffened. "Oh God…_Alfred_…!"

Apparently already on the verge of release, Arthur was taken by a powerful orgasm that shuddered throughout his entire body.

Arthur's breath hitched. "I love you…"

Alfred's eyes widened at Arthur's hoarse proclamation and the moment he felt the muscles tighten around his length, he couldn't hold it in anymore. He shuddered and embraced the release, his entire body stiffening as he cried out Arthur's name.

Some moments later, Arthur was sprawled out on top of him, both of them breathing heavily as their sweat cooled in the air conditioned room. Arthur's fingers absently caressed the scar on Alfred's tan chest and Alfred smiled in tired bliss.

"That was…" Alfred began.

"Amazing," Arthur finished.

Alfred smiled. "Well, I was gonna say awesome, but…"

"It's the same thing," Arthur retorted, but there was no force behind it. He sounded as tired as he looked.

Alfred kissed the top of his head, a grin tugging at his lips for only the third time in months. "So…you love me?"

Arthur sighed, but Alfred could feel Arthur's lips curl upward against his chest. "Isn't it obvious by now?"

Alfred chuckled. "Francis had said nearly the same thing."

"That _frog_," Arthur muttered agitatedly and turned his head to look up at Alfred with a scowl.

"He _was_ a big help," Alfred defended. "In the end."

"More like a sodding nuisance," Arthur muttered darkly.

Alfred smiled, lifting a hand to caress Arthur's flushed cheek with his thumb. "Either way, with his help, I finally confessed to you. So, he can't be that bad."

Arthur just murmured something unintelligible and absently leaned into Alfred's touch. Alfred's smile grew tender.

"I'd still like to hear it," Alfred stated.

"What?" Arthur was clearly playing dumb.

"The words," Alfred replied, giving Arthur his best puppy-dog look without realizing it.

Arthur rolled his eyes, not being able to resist that look. "Well, if you insist…"

"I do," Alfred murmured, moving his hand and tracing his thumb along the shell of Arthur's right ear.

Arthur smiled a small smile, his gaze warmer than Alfred had ever seen it since the revolution. "I love you, Alfred F. Jones."

"Of course you do." Alfred grinned cheekily, and Arthur looked like he would have hit him if he had had the energy, but as it was, he settled for a half-hearted glare.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," Alfred replied happily. "You've restored me to my former glory."

"Have I now?" Arthur looked amused.

"Yep." But then Alfred's grin faded. "More than you know."

Arthur gave him a curious look.

"Well…" Arthur paused, looking thoughtful. "Perhaps the feeling is mutual."

Alfred smiled and pulled the covers from the other side of the double bed around them both, wrapping an arm around Arthur's back. Arthur smiled back and yawned a bit, before setting his cheek down once again upon Alfred's broad chest. Alfred ran a hand through Arthur's short blond locks lazily, until he heard the soft rhythmic breathing of sleep escaping Arthur's parted lips.

Alfred yawned but couldn't stop smiling, feeling indescribably happy and restive for the first time in months.

"Thanks, Francis," he muttered, "I owe you one."

And then he too closed his eyes and fell into a completely restful, dreamless sleep for the first time in months.

* * *

"Do you think it worked?"

Francis sipped his chardonnay and smiled indulgently at Matthew, his thumb caressing the nation's hand as he held it from across the table. "Mon amour, if I know Angleterre as much as I should, this night could have only ended in success."

"I hope you're right," Matthew replied, taking a sip of his own wine. "I don't like seeing Arthur so distressed."

"It was the same with Amerique," Francis replied, leaning forward and pulling Matthew's hand to his lips, kissing it. "Love is a powerful thing, non?"

"I suppose," Matthew replied, smiling shyly.

"And you did such a wonderful job," Francis commended. "Thanks to your efforts a new love has blossomed."

Matthew blushed. "I wouldn't say I did much, eh. This was all your idea."

Francis smiled. "You flatter me, mon amour, but I will not take all the credit. After all, without Alfred's tendency to act without thinking, neither of them would have ever been able to move their relationship to the next stage. It took a lot of courage to do what he did."

Matthew sighed, his smile wistful. "I just hope my brother doesn't mess it up."

Francis chuckled. "They have already broken up once, leaving them separated for over one-hundred years. I'm sure that will serve as more than enough motivation for Amerique to behave himself, non?"

"Probably," Matthew agreed.

"Well," Francis set down his chardonnay glass, his expression turning decidedly lewd. "What do you say we retire to my chambers for the night, oui?"

Matthew colored, but he nodded, letting Francis pull him up by the hand and walk him out of the restaurant, a possessive arm around his waist.

* * *

Fin

AN: I was actually telling a friend the other day that for the longest time I had thought I was incapable of writing a sex scene, but now that I've tried to write one for this pairing, I've realized that maybe I was just incapable of writing a sex scene for the previous OTPs I've had.

I'm not exactly sure if I was successful, but it seems that, for me, Arthur and Alfred are incomprehensibly easy to write in an intimate situation. Maybe it's because, even in canon, the antagonism between them is known to be superficial and a lot of it is based on Arthur's pride and Alfred's oblivious nature. Not to mention their rocky history – the roller coaster from familial love to painful separation that left them estranged for so many years until Alfred had to save Arthur during the Second World War. It's easy to see that they could be that way AND love each other deep down at the same time. So it's equally easy for me to write them in an evolving relationship that is still true to their characters.

At least, I think that's what's going on. In any event, this is a beautiful pairing and I'm so glad I've found it.


End file.
